Children's stories online. Tatar fairy tale shurale Tatar folk tale shurale in English

I
There is an aul near Kazan, named Kyrlay.
Even chickens in that Kyrlay know how to sing ... Wonderful land!
Even though I'm not from there, but I kept love for him,
He worked on the ground - sowing, stinging and harrowing.
Is he known as a big aul? No, on the contrary, it is small
And the river, the pride of the people, is just a small spring.
This side of the forest is forever alive in the memory.
Grass spreads like a velvety blanket.
There the people never knew either cold or heat:
In its turn the wind will blow, in its turn it will rain.
From raspberries, strawberries, everything in the forest is motley-motley,
You pick up a single bucket full of berries in an instant.
Often I lay on the grass and looked at the heavens.
The endless forests seemed to me a formidable army.
Like warriors, there were pines, lindens and oaks,
Under the pine - sorrel and mint, under the birch - mushrooms.
How many blue, yellow, red flowers are intertwined there,
And from them a fragrance poured in the sweet air.
Moths flew, flew and landed,
As if the petals entered into an argument and reconciled with them.
Bird chirping, ringing babble resounded in silence
And filled my soul with piercing joy.
Here is music and dances, and singers and circus performers,
There are boulevards and theaters, and fighters and violinists!
This fragrant forest is wider than the sea, higher than the clouds,
Like the army of Genghis Khan, noisy and powerful.
And the glory of my grandfather's names rose before me,
And cruelty, and violence, and tribal strife.
II
I have depicted the summer forest - I have not sung my verse yet
Our autumn, our winter, and young beauties,
And the fun of our festivities, and the spring sabantuy ...
Oh my verse, remembering you don’t worry my soul!
But wait, I was daydreaming ... Here is the paper on the table ...
I was going to tell you about the shurale's tricks.
I’ll begin now, reader, don’t blame me:
I lose all reason, only I remember Kyrlay.
III
Of course, in this amazing forest
You will meet a wolf and a bear and a crafty fox.
Here hunters often saw squirrels,
Either a gray hare will rush, or a horned elk will flicker.
There are many secret paths and treasures, they say.
There are many terrible beasts and monsters here, they say.
Many fairy tales and beliefs walk in their native land
And about gins, and about peri, and about terrible shurales.
Is it true? Endless like the sky, an ancient forest
And no less than in heaven, there may be a forest of miracles.
IV
I will begin my short story about one of them,
And - this is my custom - I will sing in verses.
One night, when the moon glides in the clouds, shining,
From the aul, a horseman went to the forest for firewood.
I rode the cart quickly, immediately grabbed the ax,
Fat and fat, cutting trees, and a dense forest all around.
As is often the case in summer, the night was fresh and damp.
Silence grew as the birds slept.
The woodcutter is busy with work, you know he knocks, knocks.
For a moment the enchanted horseman was forgotten.
Chu! A terrible cry is heard in the distance,
And the ax stopped in the swinging hand.
And our nimble woodcutter froze in amazement.
He looks - and does not believe his eyes. What is this? Man?
Jin, robber or ghost - this gnarled freak?
How ugly he is, inevitably fear takes!
The nose is curved like a fish hook
Hands, legs - like boughs, will frighten the daredevil too.
Flashing viciously, eyes in black hollows burn,
Even during the day, not that at night, this look will frighten.
He looks like a man, very thin and naked,
The narrow forehead is decorated with a horn the size of our finger.
He has half an arshin fingers on his hands crooked, -
Ten fingers ugly, sharp, long and straight.
V
And looking into the ugly eyes that lit up like two fires,
The woodcutter asked boldly: "What do you want from me?"
- Young horseman, do not be afraid, robbery does not attract me.
But although I am not a robber, I am not a righteous saint.
Why, when I saw you, I let out a cheerful cry?
Because I'm used to tickling people.
Every finger is designed to tickle more viciously
I kill a person, making them laugh.
Well, move your fingers, my brother,
Play tickle with me and cheer me up!
- Okay, I'll play, - the woodcutter answered him. -
Only on one condition ... Do you agree or not?
- Speak, little man, please be brave,
I will accept all the conditions, but let them play soon!
- If so - listen to me, how you decide - I don't care.
Do you see a thick, large and heavy log?
The spirit of the forest! Let's work together first,
Together with you, we will transfer the log to the cart.
Did you notice a big gap on the other end of the log?
Hold the log there stronger, all your strength is needed! ..
Shurale looked askance at the indicated place
And, the dzhigita did not cross, the shurale agreed.
Long, straight fingers he put in the mouth of the log ...
Sages! Can you see the simple trick of the woodcutter?
The wedge, pre-plugged, knocks out with an ax,
Knocking out, performs a clever plan in secret.
Shurale does not move, does not move his hand,
He stands, not understanding the clever human invention.
So a thick wedge flew out with a whistle, disappeared into the darkness ...
Shurale's fingers pinched and remained in the gap.
Shurale saw deception, shurale yells, yells.
He calls his brothers for help, he calls the forest people.
With a repentant prayer, he says to the dzhigit:
- Have pity, have pity on me! Let me go, horseman!
Neither you, horseman, nor my son will I offend forever.
I will never touch your whole family, oh man!
I will not give offense to anyone! Do you want me to take an oath?
I will tell everyone: “I am a friend of the horseman. Let him walk in the forest! "
Your fingers hurt! Give me freedom! Let me live on earth!
What do you, horseman, for the profit from the torments of the shurale?
The poor man cries, rushes about, whines, howls, not himself.
The woodcutter does not hear him, he is going home.
- Will the cry of the sufferer not soften this soul?
Who are you, who are you, heartless? What is your name, dzhigit?
Tomorrow, if I live to see our brothers,
To the question: "Who is your offender?" - whose name will I give?
- So be it, I say, brother. Don't forget this name:
I was nicknamed "Vgoduminuvshim" ... And now - it's time for me to go.
Shurale screams and howls, wants to show strength,
He wants to escape from captivity, punish the woodcutter.
- I will die! Forest spirits, help me quickly
He pinched Vgoduminuvom, the villain ruined me!
And in the morning shurales came running from all sides.
- What's the matter with you? Are you crazy? What are you, you fool, upset?
Calm down! Shut up, we can't stand screaming.
Pinched in the past year, why are you roaring in this year
translation: S. Lipkin

There is an aul near Kazan called Kyrlay.
Even chickens in that Kyrlay can sing ... Wonderful land!

Even though I'm not from there, but I kept love for him,
He worked on the ground - sowing, stinging and harrowing.

Is he known as a big aul? No, on the contrary, it is small
And the river, the pride of the people, is just a small spring.

This side of the forest is forever alive in the memory.
Grass spreads like a velvety blanket.

There the people never knew either cold or heat:
In its turn the wind will blow, in its turn it will rain
will go.

From raspberries, strawberries, everything in the forest is motley-motley,
You pick up a single bucket full of berries in an instant.

Often I lay on the grass and looked at the heavens.
The endless forests seemed to me a formidable army.

Like warriors, there were pines, lindens and oaks,
Under the pine - sorrel and mint, under the birch - mushrooms.

How many blue, yellow, red flowers are there
intertwined
And from them a fragrance poured in the sweet air.

Moths flew, flew and landed,
As if the petals entered into an argument and reconciled with them.

Bird chirping, ringing babble resounded in silence
And filled my soul with piercing joy.

Here is music, and dances, and singers, and circus performers,
There are boulevards, theaters, wrestlers and violinists!

This fragrant forest is wider than the sea, higher than the clouds,
Like the army of Genghis Khan, noisy and powerful.

And the glory of my grandfather's names rose before me,
And cruelty, and violence, and tribal strife.

2
I have depicted the summer forest - I have not sung my verse yet
Our autumn, our winter and young beauties,

And the fun of our festivities, and the spring sabantuy ...
Oh my verse, remembering you do not worry my soul!

But wait, I was daydreaming ... Here is the paper on the table ...
I was going to tell you about the shurale's tricks.

I’ll begin now, reader, don’t blame me:
I lose all reason, only I remember Kyrlay.

Of course, in this amazing forest
You will meet a wolf and a bear and a crafty fox.

Here hunters often saw squirrels,
Either a gray hare will rush, or a horned elk will flicker.
There are many secret paths and treasures, they say.
There are many terrible beasts and monsters here, they say.

Many fairy tales and beliefs walk in their native land
And about jinn, and about peri, and about the terrible shurales.

Is it true? Endless like the sky, an ancient forest
And no less than in heaven, there may be a forest of miracles.

I will begin my short story about one of them,
And - this is my custom - I will sing in verses.

Somehow on a night when, shining, the moon glides in the clouds,
From the aul, a horseman went to the forest for firewood.

I rode the cart quickly, immediately grabbed the ax,
Fat and fat, chopping trees, and around - a dense forest.
As is often the case in summer, the night was fresh and humid.
Silence grew as the birds slept.
The lumberjack is busy with work, know he knocks himself, knocks,
For a moment the enchanted horseman was forgotten.
Chu! Some terrible cry is heard in the distance.
And the ax stopped in the swinging hand.

And our nimble woodcutter froze in amazement.
He looks - and does not believe his eyes. Who is this? Man?
Genie, outlaw or ghost, this gnarled freak?
How ugly he is, inevitably fear takes.
The nose is curved like a fish hook
Hands, legs - like boughs, will frighten the daredevil too.
Eyes flare viciously, burn in black hollows.
Even during the day, not that at night, this look will frighten.

He looks like a man, very thin and naked,
The narrow forehead is decorated with a horn the size of our finger.
He has half an arshin fingers on his hands crooked, -
Ten fingers ugly, sharp, long
and direct.

And looking into the ugly eyes that lit up like two fires,
The woodcutter asked boldly: "What do you want from me?"

"Young horseman, do not be afraid, robbery does not attract me,
But although I am not a robber, I am not a righteous saint.

Why, when I saw you, I let out a cheerful cry?
Because I'm used to killing people by tickling.

Every finger is designed to tickle more viciously
I kill a person, making them laugh.

Well, move your fingers, my brother,
Play tickle with me and cheer me up! "

"Okay, I'll play," the woodcutter answered him.
Only on one condition ... Do you agree or not? "

“Speak, little man, please be brave,
I will accept all the conditions, but let's play quickly! "

“If so - listen to me, how you decide -
i do not care.
Do you see a thick, large and heavy log?
The spirit of the forest! Let's work together first,
Together with you, we will transfer the log to the cart.
Did you notice a big gap on the other end of the log?
Hold the log there stronger, all your strength is needed! .. "

The shurale looked askance at the indicated place.
And, the dzhigita did not cross, the shurale agreed.

Long, straight fingers he put in the mouth of the log ...
Sages! Can you see the simple trick of the woodcutter?

The wedge, pre-plugged, knocks out with an ax,
Knocking out, performs a clever plan in secret.

Shurale does not move, does not move his hand,
He stands, not understanding the clever human invention.

So a thick wedge flew out with a whistle, disappeared into the darkness ...
Shurale's fingers pinched and remained in the gap.

Shurale saw deception, shurale yells, yells.
He calls his brothers for help, he calls the forest people.

With a repentant prayer, he says to the dzhigit:
“Have pity, have pity on me! Let me go, horseman!

Neither you, horseman, nor my son will I offend forever.
I will never touch your whole family, oh man!

I will not give offense to anyone! Do you want me to take an oath?
I will tell everyone: “I am a friend of the horseman. Let him walk
in the forest!"

Your fingers hurt! Give me freedom! Let me live
on the ground!
What do you, horseman, for the profit from the torments of the shurale? "

The poor man cries, rushes about, whines, howls, not himself.
The woodcutter does not hear him, he is going home.

“Will the cry of the sufferer not soften this soul?
Who are you, who are you, heartless? What is your name, dzhigit?

Tomorrow, if I live to see our brothers,
To the question: "Who is your offender?" - whose name will I name? "

“So be it, I say, brother. Don't forget this name:
I am nicknamed "Vgoduminuvshim" ... And now -
it's time for me to go. "

Shurale screams and howls, wants to show strength,
He wants to escape from captivity, punish the woodcutter.

"I will die. Forest spirits, help me soon!
He pinched Vgoduminuvom, the villain ruined me! "

And in the morning shurales came running from all sides.
“What's the matter with you? Are you crazy? What are you, you fool, upset?

Calm down! Shut up! We can't stand screaming.
Pinched in the past year, what are you in this
are you crying? "

Tatar folk tale with pictures. Illustrations: K. Kamaletdinov

1 wakyga

1) event, phenomenon, occurrence; incident

"Shүrәle" ballet Tatars of culture tarikhynda zur vakyiga buldy - the production of ballet "Shurale" in the history of Tatar culture was a great event

2) lit. act

2 shүrәle

3 shүrәle

4 shүrәle

noun myth. goblin, shurale

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A young lover of literature, we are firmly convinced that it will be pleasant for you to read the fairy tale "Shurale (Tatar fairy tale)" and that you will be able to learn a lesson and benefit from it. The plot is simple and old as the world, but each new generation finds in it something that is relevant and useful for itself. Each time, reading this or that epic, one feels incredible love with which images of the environment are described. It is sweet and gratifying to plunge into a world in which love, nobility, morality and disinterestedness always prevail, by which the reader is edified. "Good always triumphs over evil" - on this foundation will be built, similar to this one, and this creation, from an early age laying the foundation of our world outlook. All images are simple, everyday and do not cause youthful misunderstanding, because we are faced with them every day in our everyday life. Faced with such strong, strong-willed and kind qualities of the hero, you involuntarily feel the desire to transform yourself for the better. The fairy tale "Shurale (Tatar fairy tale)" is worth reading for free online for everyone, there is deep wisdom, philosophy, and simplicity of the plot with a good ending.

There was a brave woodcutter in one aul.

He went one winter to the forest and began to chop wood. Suddenly Shurale appeared in front of him.

- What's your name, little man? - asks Shurale.

- My name is Byltyr **, - the woodcutter answers.

- Come on, Bytyr, let's play, - says Shurale.

- I'm not up to the game now, - the woodcutter answers. - I won't play with you!

Shurale got angry and shouted:

- Ah well! Well, then I will not let you out of the forest alive!

The woodcutter sees - it's a bad thing.

- Good, - he says. - I'll play with you, just first help me split the deck.

Hit the lumberjack with an ax on the deck once, hit twice and says:

“Stick your fingers in the slit so it won't get pinched until I hit it a third time.

He thrust his fingers into the crack for Shurale, and the woodcutter pulled out an ax. Then the deck closed tightly and pinched Shurale's fingers. This was all the woodcutter needed. He collected his firewood and left as soon as possible for the aul. And let Shurale shout to the whole forest:

- Byltyr pinched my fingers! .. Byltyr pinched my fingers! ..

Other shurales came running to shout, asking:

- What happened? Who pinched it?

- Byltyr pinched! - Shurale answers.

- If so, we can do nothing to help you, - say other shurales. - If it happened today, we would help you. Since that was last year, where can you find him now? You stupid! You should have shouted not now, but last year!

And the stupid Shurale could not really explain anything to them.

They say that Shurale put the deck on his back and still carries it on himself, while he shouts loudly:

- Byltyr pinched my fingers!

* Shurale is a goblin.

** Bytyr - last year

1. Gabdulla Tukai - Gabdulla Mukhamedgarifovich Tukai (April 14, 1886, the village of Kushlavich, Kazan district, Kazan province - April 2, 1913, Kazan). Tatar folk poet, literary critic, publicist, public figure and translator.
On April 20, 1912, Tukai arrived in St. Petersburg (stayed 13 days) to meet with Mullanur Vakhitov, later a prominent revolutionary. (see more about the trip to St. Petersburg: chapter 5 from the book of IZ Nurullin's book "Tukai")
In life and work, Tukai acted as an exponent of the interests and aspirations of the masses, a herald of the friendship of peoples and a singer of freedom. Tukai was the pioneer of a new realistic Tatar literature and literary criticism. The first poems of Tukai appeared in the 1904 handwritten journal Al-Ghasr al-Jadid (New Age). At the same time, he translates Krylov's fables into the Tatar language and offers them for publication. ()

2. The poem "Shurale" - a poem by the Tatar poet Gabdulla Tukay. Written in 1907 based on Tatar folklore. The ballet "Shurale" was created based on the plot of the poem. In 1987 Soyuzmultfilm filmed the animated film Shurale.
The prototype of Shurale existed not only in Tatar mythology. Various peoples of Siberia and Eastern Europe (as well as the Chinese, Koreans, Persians, Arabs and others) had a belief in the so-called "halves". They were called differently, but their essence remained almost the same.
These are one-eyed, one-armed creatures that have been attributed to various supernatural properties. According to Yakut and Chuvash beliefs, halves can change the size of their bodies. Almost all peoples believe that they are terribly funny - they laugh until their last breath, and they also like to make others laugh, they often tickle cattle and people to death. The "laughing" voices of some birds (of the order of owls) were attributed to halves. The Udmurts call the eagle owl by the word "shurali" or "urali". And the Mari call the hooting nocturnal bird "shur-locho", which means "half-dwarf". An evil forest spirit with only half a soul could infiltrate people. In the Old Chuvash language, the word "surale" was formed - a person in whom "sura" (devil-half) entered. In the northern dialects of the Chuvash language and in the Mari, the sound "s" sometimes turns into "sh" - this explains the appearance of "shurele".
The image of Shurale was very widespread in Tatar and Bashkir mythology. The stories about Shural had many variations. At the end of the 19th century, they were recorded by researchers. The book of the Hungarian scientist Gabor Balint "Studying the language of the Kazan Tatars" published in 1875 in Budapest, the work of the famous Tatar educator Kayum Nasyri "Beliefs and rituals of the Kazan Tatars" published in 1880, as well as Taip Yakhin's collection of tales "Defgylkesel min esabi ve sabiyat "1900 edition. One of these options (where the resourcefulness and courage of the Tatar people are most clearly shown) formed the basis of the famous work of Gabdulla Tukai. With the light hand of the poet, Shurale stepped out of the realm of superstition into the world of Tatar literature and art. In a note to the poem G. Tukay wrote: "I wrote this fairy tale" Shurale "using the example of the poets A. Pushkin and M. Lermontov, who processed the plots of folk tales told by folk storytellers in the villages."
The fairy tale poem by Gabdulla Tukay was a huge success. It was in tune with its time and reflected educational trends in literature: it glorified the victory of the human mind, knowledge, skill over the mysterious and blind forces of nature. It also reflected the growth of national self-awareness: for the first time in the center of a literary poetic work was not a common Turkic or Islamic plot, but a Tatar fairy tale that existed among the common people. The language of the poem was notable for its richness, expressiveness and accessibility. But this is not the only secret of her popularity.
The poet put his personal feelings, memories, experiences into the story, making it surprisingly lyrical. It is no coincidence that the action develops in Kyrlay - the village in which Tukai spent his happiest childhood years and, by his own admission, "began to remember himself." A huge, wonderful world full of secrets and mysteries appears before the reader in the pure and direct perception of a little boy. The poet, with great tenderness and love, sang the beauty of his native nature, and folk customs, and the agility, strength, and cheerfulness of the villagers. These feelings were shared by his readers, who perceived the tale "Shurale" as a deeply national work, truly vividly and fully expressing the very soul of the Tatar people. It was in this poem that the evil spirits from the dense forest for the first time received not only a negative, but also a positive assessment: Shurale became, as it were, an integral part of his native land, its virgin flowering nature, inexhaustible folk fantasy. It is not surprising that this vivid, memorable image then inspired writers, artists, composers to create significant and original works of art for many years.

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